


Concussion

by allikatt



Series: Proof That Peter Has Zero Self-Preservation Instincts [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Concussions, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Canon Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Homecoming Compliant, cookie baking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2020-06-22 06:00:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19661281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allikatt/pseuds/allikatt
Summary: “Peter, are you okay?”Not bothering to lift his head from the pillow, he muttered, “If I die tonight, I don’t care.”“I can tell; you took Steve’s last ginger ale,” Natasha joked. When Peter did not respond, she switched to genuine concern. “What’s wrong?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone!
> 
> This is the fifth part in a series of one-shots about how Peter Parker's self-preservation skills are mostly lacking when it comes to injuries. All of these prompts are based off of injuries I got growing up. The story behind this fic will be in the end notes if you want to read it!

Peter had never felt this grateful to see Happy waiting for him as he left Academic Decathlon practice. His day started out great, but quickly went downhill after lunch. Now, he had a migraine and craved the muted 40 minute drive to the Tower. As he slid into the backseat, he made sure to softly close the door instead of his usual enthusiastic slam. “Hi, Happy,” Peter could hear the tiredness in his own voice. “How are you today?”

“Better than you, it seems.” Happy merged into traffic.

“It’s been a long day; I’ll be fine.”

Satisfied with his answer, Happy rolled up the divider. Peter put on his noise-cancelling headphones and closed his eyes, willing his headache to disappear. It was still there when they arrived in the Tower’s garage.

Before Peter could get on the elevator, Happy stopped him and motioned for him to remove the headphones. “Kid, Tony’s meeting is running late, and he can’t leave because Pepper is watching him like a hawk. He’ll meet you in the common floor living room once it wraps up.”

Happy was gone before Peter could reply. Stepping into the elevator, FRIDAY greeted him. “Hello, Peter.” Peter winced. “Boss will be with you after his meeting. Until then, you are to wait on the common floor.”

“Thanks for the info.” The elevator arrived. Peter entered the floor, kicking off his shoes near the lift. Heading over to the kitchen, he dropped his backpack onto a chair before heading to the fridge. The car ride nauseated him, and he knew ginger ale could help. Opening the fridge, he saw a lonely can sitting on the shelf. Steve labeled it as his while threatening pre-dawn calisthenics for a week towards whoever took it.

Peter was too tired to try and figure out why Steve was so protective over the can of soda and took it anyways. He knew he could get FRIDAY to erase the kitchen footage so Steve would not know who took the last can. And if Steve did somehow manage to figure out it was him, he could play the age card. If that did not work, May would get involved.

Smiling at that thought, Peter went over to the large couch in the common area, opening the can and taking a sip before setting it down on the coffee table. Since no one was around and he had no idea when Tony would be free from his meeting, he decided to try taking a nap again. After FRIDAY lowered the blinds, he made himself comfortable with the throw pillows and blankets before taking off the headphones. Peter knew the area was pretty much soundproof, and no one was around to make noise, so he would be fine. Plus, it was easier to sleep without headphones than with. He closed his eyes, wishing for sleep.

The next thing he knew, he was on the floor. He fell off the couch, which meant he did manage to sleep. Groaning, Peter picked his head up before deciding that the rug was comfortable enough to take a nap on. Reaching blindly above him, he grabbed a pillow off the couch and tucked it under his head, willing himself to fall asleep once again.

It almost worked, too. Peter could feel himself drifting off when he heard Natasha ask, “Peter, are you okay?”

Not bothering to lift his head from the pillow, he muttered, “If I die tonight, I don’t care.”

“I can tell; you took Steve’s last ginger ale,” Natasha joked. When Peter did not respond, she switched to genuine concern. “What’s wrong?” She sat down on the couch above Peter.

“Ms. Nat, I’ve had a headache since right after lunch, and felt a little sick earlier. That’s why I took the last ginger ale. If Steve makes a fuss, I’ll have FRIDAY delete the kitchen footage. And if finds out it was me, I’ll guilt him with my age. As a last resource, I’ll stick May on him.”

“Good planning. Your plans have contingent plans. How did you end up on the carpet?”

“I was on the couch. I must have dozed off because I woke up when I hit the floor. I was going to get up, but everything started spinning, so I decided the floor was good enough for me.”

“Are you feeling well enough that you won’t be sick or suffer from vertigo if we get you back on the couch?”

“Maybe?”

“Okay, we’ll go slow. Let’s start with you untangling yourself from the blanket.” Peter freed himself and handed it to Natasha. “Great, now slowly move yourself into an upright position.” He dutifully followed her instructions. “Now that you’re upright, take a few sips of ginger ale. You don’t need to become dehydrated; it could worsen your headache.”

“Looks like I can add you to the list,” Peter mumbled under his breath in between sips of pop.

“What list?”

Peter quickly assured her. “I didn’t mean for you to hear that. It isn’t bad or anything. The list consists of my friends and the adults in my life that attempt to prevent me from doing stupid things. May and Mr. Stark are at the top of the list, followed by Ned, MJ, Wanda, and now you.”

“Keep drinking the soda. How did Wanda end up on the list?”

Peter took three sips before speaking. “She went over knife safety when we made guacamole a few weeks ago.”

“You do realize that all of the Avengers look out for you?”

“I’m aware. But my list consists of those who’ve told me to my face to be safe, follow instructions and/or not be a dummy.”

“You done with the soda for now?” Peter nodded. “Okay, take your time and join me on the couch. I have your blanket, and I’ll grab the pillow you were using.” Peter complied; less than a minute later, he sat on the couch next to Natasha. “Now,” she patted the pillow next to her, “I want you to lay back down and rest your eyes.”

Once Peter was situated on the couch again, Natasha threw the blanket back over him. She gently combed through his hair, listening to his breathing slow down. She continued to card her fingers through his hair while she texted FRIDAY, asking her to summon Tony at his earliest convenience.

Less than five minutes later, Tony rushed out of the elevator. Before he could speak, Natasha motioned for him to meet her in the hallway past the kitchen. After quickly and quietly extracting herself away from Peter without disturbing him, she silently walked to where Tony was waiting.

“What happened?” Tony whispered. “Happy said that he had a rough day at school, but didn’t mention a headache.”

“All that I got from him was that it came after lunch. When I found him, he was lying on the floor in front of the couch. He fell off it while dozing and was too nauseated to attempt laying back on the couch. Look, Tony, I think he may have a concussion; he needs to go down to the MedBay.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Helen’s at a conference in Seattle. FRIDAY, please request Bruce to come up here. Ask him to bring anything that is needed for a concussion test--”

Natasha jumped in, “And tell him we know that he’s not that type of doctor, but Cho is out of town and it’s for Peter.”

It was silent for a few seconds before FRIDAY responded. “Dr. Banner agreed to administer a concussion test and will be up in a few minutes.”

Natasha glanced at the ceiling. “Thank you so much, FRIDAY.” Turning to Tony, she motioned for him to follow her. “Let’s get back to Peter before Bruce gets here.”

Tony rubbed his hands together. “Let’s wake up the Spider-Baby!”

It turned out that Peter was already awake. He stared blearily at Tony and Natasha for a moment before sitting up. “I wasn’t sleeping, just resting my eyes.”

“Of course you were, Kiddo.” Tony sat down next to Peter. “Natasha tells me you’ve had a migraine since lunch. Do you know what might have triggered it?”

“It happened right after lunch. Flash was annoyed about something and took it out on me. He pushed me into a set of lockers, and I hit my head on a lock.”

“Peter, that’s not good, bud.”

“I’m fine. It’s just a migraine.”

“Yeah, a migraine caused by blunt force trauma. That kid should be suspended for causing bodily harm to another student. You know what, I’m going to talk to May about this and have her schedule an appoint with your principal.” Tony was working himself up.

“Please, don’t Mr. Stark. I can handle Flash. And if he stopped picking on me, he would choose someone else. Someone who doesn’t have a healing ability.”

“Speaking of healing factors, Bruce will be up here in a few minutes to give you a concussion test.”

Peter groaned and collapsed against the cushions. He knew better than to try and argue. Soon, Bruce was walking up to the couch that the three of them were sitting on. “Hello, Peter, Tony, Natasha.” Peter waved while Natasha and Tony greeted him.

Bruce moved the can of pop and the headphones on the coffee table before sitting down. “Hey, Peter, can you please sit up and look at me?” Once Peter followed his instructions, he continued, “Thanks. Can you please tell me where you are right now?”

“On a couch in the common area of the Tower.”

“Great. What’s your address?” Peter rattled it off. Bruce confirmed it was correct before he continued his questioning. “Can you tell me how you injured your head?”

“I was walking to study hall after lunch when this guy who hates me pushed me into some lockers. When I fell into them, I bumped my head on a lock. I didn’t black out or anything, but I do have a horrible headache because of it.”

“That sounds like it hurt. Can you tell me about the rest of your day up until I showed up?”

“Sure. I went to the library and found the most secluded area so I could take a nap. Since my head hurt so much, I knew that the only thing that would help was blocking out as much stimuli as possible, so I put on my headphones and buried my face in the sleeves of my hoodie. Then, I went to physics, where we went over... something. I’ll get the notes from Ned later. After that, I went to Academic Decathlon practice, where I was absolutely miserable. Ned looked really concerned for me, and MJ kept on giving me all five of her Worry Disguised As Disappointment™ looks, which is really bad. Finally, Happy picked me up and brought me here. I tried to take a nap, but it didn’t work.”

Natasha cut in. “You left out the part where you got the ginger ale because you were feeling nauseous and that you were on the floor when I found you.”

Based on Tony’s nonreaction, Bruce figured he already knew about this portion of the story. “How did you end up floor, Peter?”

“Well, Dr. Banner,” he began playing with the fringe on a throw pillow, “I must’ve fallen asleep on the couch, because I woke up when I fell to the ground. I was going to get back on the couch, but the room started spinning when I lifted my head up. I decided that the rug was a good enough place to rest, and Ms. Nat found me there.”

Bruce nodded at Peter’s story before rummaging through the bag he brought with him. He pulled out a foam stress ball and held it up so Peter could see. “Peter, I’m going to throw this at you, and I want you to try and catch it, okay?” He lobbed the ball.

“I’m Spiderman, of course I can--” Peter cutoff as he fumbled to grab it.

“It looks like your reaction time is off,” Bruce commented. He combed through the bag again. “Let’s take a look at your eyes. You said he was nauseated and showing signs of vertigo earlier?” Glancing at Natasha he validated her previous account.

“Yes, he was.”

“Then we should give him a trash can for this next test.” Natasha reached over the side of the couch and handed him a small waste basket. “Thanks.”

“Wait!” Peter held up his hand. “I am confusion. My pupils aren’t different sizes. Why do you need to shine a light into my eyes?”

“To make sure they react properly to light.” Bruce turned on the pen light and handed him the pail. “Ready?”

“No.”

“Sorry.”

Bruce shone the light in both of his eyes, causing a white hot pain to riccrocet around his brain as if it were in a blender. “Aagh” Peter clutched his head and dry heaved into the bucket on his lap. “I can’t believe you’ve done this.” Tony rubbed comforting circles on his back.

“Again, I apologize, Peter. Good news, though, your pupils are working properly. Now, there’s only one more thing I have to do.”

“What’s that?”

Bruce put on a pair of latex gloves. “Can you show me where you hit your head?” Peter gestured to the back of his head. Bruce prodded the area before taking the gloves off and throwing them in the trash can that was still on Peter’s lap. “It appears your healing ability already took care of any physical injury from the incident.”

“So, what’s your verdict, Brucie?” Tony inquired.

“Peter has a mild concussion.”

“This is so sad, FRIDAY, play ‘Despacito.’”

Tony gave Peter a baffled look. “No, FRIDAY, no music.” Turning back to Bruce, he inquired, “What do you recommend?”

“Give him some pain pills and let him sleep it off. His brain needs to heal, and sleeping will help.”

“Does someone need to wake him up every few hours?” Natasha asked.

“No, that’s not needed anymore. I also advise Peter to take it easy for a bit.”

“No Spiderman for at least a week, Underoos. I’m sure that Aunt Hottie will agree with me when we talk later.”

Peter nestled back into the cushions. “Can you please not refer to my aunt like that?”

Instead of answering, Tony changed the subject. “Hey, don’t get too comfy on the couch. You can sleep in your bed soon.” He glanced at Bruce, “Is there any other test you need to do, or can I put the Spider-Kid to bed?”

“No more tests, but he can have some pain medication.”

“Okay Peter, you sit tight for a few minutes.” Tony stood from the couch and stretched. “Bruce, Natasha, and I are going to get you some pain meds, and then I’m going to put you to bed. Please don’t go to sleep until after I return.”

“Bye Dr. Banner, Ms. Nat. Thanks for looking out for me.”

“Anytime, Peter,” Natasha replied as the elevator doors closed.

A few minutes later, the elevator doors slid open again, revealing Tony. He helped Peter off the couch, despite his protests. Wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulder, he asked, “Can you survive a ride on the elevator without spilling your guts on the floor? If not, we can take the stairs.”

“Bad choice of words, Mr. Stark, but the elevator is fine.” They rode up two floors in silence. Tony did not release Peter from his grip until they reached his door. Once it opened, he made a beeline for his bed.

Before he could flop onto it, Tony’s voice stopped him. “Are you sure you want to sleep in a hoodie and jeans?”

“No, I guess not.” Sighing, Peter changed directions towards his dresser, pulling out pajamas.

“You change, and I’ll grab you a glass of water from the kitchen.” When Tony came back a few minutes later, Peter was sitting up in his bed, awake. Walking over, he handed him the pills and the water. He took them gratefully, a silent thank you in his eyes.

While Peter took the pain killers, Tony went over to his desk. Sitting down, he rolled the chair across the room, propping his legs up on the edge of the bed. He whispered, “You tired?” Peter was snuggled into his comforter.

“I can hold a conversation, Mr. Stark. What do you want to talk about?”

“Why didn’t you call someone if you had a migraine? Or at least go to the nurse’s office?”

“I’ve had headaches before, Mr. Stark.”

“It could’ve turned into sensory overload.”

“But it didn’t.”

“Would you have called someone or gone to the nurse if that happened?”

Peter was quiet for a few seconds before answering. “Probably.”

Tony rubbed his hand down his face. “Okay, back to the original question. Why didn’t you call someone?”

“May was at work, and I thought I would be fine after study hall. Plus, MJ set me on one-absence-a-month for Decathlon. She doesn’t want a repeat of last year.”

“I’m pretty sure your intimidating friend would excuse you for having one of the worst headaches of your life and a concussion.” Based on Peter’s sheepish look, Tony figured he was correct. “You could’ve called me. I would’ve sent Happy to pick you up earlier.”

“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter yawned. “I didn’t think to do that.”

“We’ll blame it on your head being scrambled. It sounds like your getting tired; I’ll let you sleep. Your head will feel better when you wake up.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and lowered the screen brightness as far as it could go.

“You’re not leaving?”

“Nope.”

“But Dr. Banner said--”

“I know what Bruce said, but I’m staying. May will have my head if I don’t watch you like a hawk while your concussed.” Neither acknowledged the white lie of omittance within the sentence.

Peter knew Tony staying was mostly for his own assurance. “Okay, Mr. Stark.” He rolled over. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Tony responded only after he was sure the teen was asleep. “Sleep tight, Peter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the story! Now, how I got a concussion:
> 
> We were having softball practice in the gym, and we were practicing pop flies. I called for one, but this senior was trying to prove herself due to something that occurred the previous season. (IDK what, as I was a freshman). So we both go for the ball, and she runs into me at full speed. I end up on the floor with the worst headache of my life. I spent the rest of practice sitting on the stage.
> 
> After softball practice was over, I went to my two hour Chamber Strings practice. It was not fun at all. Once I came home, my mother thought I was acting weird. After getting the story out of me, she called the non-emergency number, and a paramedic came and determined I had a mild concussion.


	2. 10 Days Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tale of the ginger ale concludes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone, long time no see. I finally had the time to create the chapter that @Bbblaney77 suggested in the comments of what is now the first chapter of this part. It went in a slightly different direction, but I hope you and everyone else enjoys it!

Ten days later, Peter walked onto the common floor a free man. “Spidey’s back, people! Queens once again has its own vigilante superhero!” he shouted as he entered. Clint and Sam, who were arguing about a video game they were playing, paused it and turned to Peter.

“Congrats, man!” Sam replied. “I know you were counting down the days until you could free-fall for fun once again.”

“Mr. Sam,” the teen groaned, “please don’t describe Spiderman like that. That’s equivalent to you describing Hawkeye as someone who kills people with arrows for fun.”

“Peter,” Clint began, “you do realize that I’m a former assassin that killed people with arrows?”

“Oh, yeah.” He looked down, embarrassed.

“If you’re such a good assassin, why can’t you kill these people?” Sam gestured to the television screen with his game controller. “You’re even using a bow!”

“Video games are not the same as real life, and you know it!”

“Yet I can still pilot a jet in this game, which is a lot like flying around as the Falcon.”

Sam and Clint continued to bicker as Peter made his way over to the fridge. Grabbing an apple and a bottle of water, he sat at the island. Soon, he was texting Ned the great news. He was searching for the perfect reaction GIF when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped out of his chair, dropping his phone on the counter and almost choking on a bite of apple. Whirling around, he saw Wanda standing innocently a few feet away.

“Sorry! I didn’t think I could scare you. I thought your Spidey Sense would let you know I was approaching.”

After he stopped coughing, he responded. “It’s okay, Wanda. I didn’t die. My “sense” only works when I may be in danger. I don’t view you as a dangerous individual, so I wasn’t warned.”

“Anyways,” she began, taking a seat next to Peter, “speaking of Spiderman, I heard that your concussion is completely healed and you can go out as Spiderman again.”

“Yep, Dr. Cho just cleared me.”

“That’s great. Are you planning on patrolling tonight?”

“I plan on it. But only for an hour or two because I know that Mr. Stark will restrict me.”

“Are you free before then?”

“Yes…”

“Do you want to help me try out a new cookie recipe?” Wanda looked at him hopefully. “It’s double chocolate chunk.”

“Sure, I’ll be your taste-tester. Raw cookie dough doesn’t affect me.”

“How about you help make them with me, instead of only eating them?”

“Wanda, you know how terrible I am in the kitchen. Mr. Stark loves making fun of me for the one time I tried to cook here. I’m pretty sure I’m worse than my aunt, and that’s a high bar.”

She shrugged off his concerns. “I think you’ll be fine.”

“Besides, Mr. Stark banned me from cooking here.” 

“You and Ned didn’t burn the Tower down when you helped me make guacamole a few weeks ago.”

“There was nothing to cook! This involves an oven!”

“C’mon, I believe in you. You can do this! Besides, baking is different than cooking. Plus, he only banned you from cooking alone. You’re baking with me.”

“Fine,” Peter grumbled, “you wore me down.”

“Yay! Finish your apple and let me preheat the oven and grab the ingredients.”

A few minutes later, Peter and Wanda stood next to each other, staring at the pile of ingredients in front of them. “We still need to grab the mixing bowls, cookie sheets, and measuring cups. You grab the stand mixer,” she pointed to the cabinet next to the sink, “and I’ll grab everything else.”

Soon, everything was settled on the island counter. “Let’s start with the recipe.” Wanda looked at the StarkPad on the counter. “We need to cream four cups of butter with three cups of sugar and two of brown sugar.”

Peter was shocked. “Why so much?”

“I’m doubling the recipe so there is enough for everyone.”

“Oh. That makes sense since almost everyone is here.”

Wanda nodded as she measured out the sugar. “Place eight sticks of butter in the mixer and turn it on low. It’s not completely softened, so I like to give it a head start.” Peter turned it on and listened as the semi-room temperature butter clunked around the sides of the bowl. Wanda then slowly started to pour in the sugar.

As the sugar and butter were creamed, Wanda had Peter measuring out the dry ingredients. “Now remember, a teaspoon is smaller than a tablespoon. Depending on the ingredient, mixing the two up will ruin the cookies.”

“I gotcha.” Peter measured out the ingredients as Wanda chopped up multiple chocolate bars. When she was done, she placed them in a bowl and threw a tiny bit of flour in with them. “Why did you do that?”

“Oh, if you toss something like chocolate chunks or blueberries into some flour before placing them in the dough, they are less likely to sink to the bottom.”

“That’s a cool baking hack.”

“It sure is.” Wanda dusted off her hands with a paper towel. “I’m going to add the eggs and vanilla. Once that’s beat in, you can slowly start to add the dry ingredients in.”

A few minutes later, all that needed to be added was the chocolate chunks. Peter noticed Wanda removing the bowl before they were added in. “Why are you taking the mixing bowl off the mixer?”

“I like to mix these in by hand so the dough isn’t overmixed. Now, do you want to pour in the chunks, or mix the dough together?”

“I’ll mix.” 

“Good choice. I was planning on teasing you if you chose the first option.” Wanda hopped onto the counter and poured in the chocolate.

Peter sighed and started mixing. “I can’t believe that was a test.” 

“You have super strength, which makes you the perfect candidate for mixing things.”

“And you could manipulate the wooden spoon into mixing this all together with your mind without even breaking a sweat!”

“True, but it’s more fun to watch someone else do it.” Wanda observed Peter’s mixing skills while eating the few pieces of chocolate that did not end up in the mixing bowl. “Stop mixing, that looks good!”

She jumped down from the counter. “I’ll grab some parchment paper and you get some spoons. Then we can put the cookies on the baking sheets and into the oven!”

As Wanda dug for the roll of parchment paper, she heard Steve called out, “Peter, you’re baking? I thought…”

“No, Mr. Steve, Mr. Stark did not ban me from baking too. I’m helping Wanda bake some cookies. She wants to celebrate me being cleared for Spidermanning again.”

“Hi, Steve!” Wanda popped up from behind the counter, parchment paper in hand. “We’re just about to put the dough on the sheets and get them in the oven. Wanna help?”

“Sure.” He joined them on the other side of the counter and washed his hands. “Why do you have baking paper out? I thought you were making cookies.”

“We are making cookies, Mr. Steve. Double chocolate chunk cookies.”

“We are using parchment paper,” she waved the roll for emphasis, “to line the baking sheets so the cookies don’t stick.”

“Why aren’t you using shortening?” Met with blank stares, he clarified. “Crisco.”

“Because it’s messy. I’d rather use a non-stick spray than Crisco. With parchment paper, there’s hardly any mess. If you burn whatever you’re cooking, use don’t have to worry about trying to scrape it off the pan.”

“Oh. I’ve never seen them baked on parchment paper before.” There was a wistfulness to Steve’s eyes, as if he were watching a different scene play out in front of him. One from almost a century ago. Shaking his head, he continued, “So, what do you want me to do?”

“You and Peter and can scoop spoonfuls of dough onto the sheets. I’ll join you after I finish with the parchment paper.”

“Sounds good.” Steve grabbed two spoons and grabbed a parchment-lined baking sheet before joining Peter on the other side of the stand mixer. “So, Peter, how’s school going?” He began plopping cookie dough onto the pan.

“It’s good. Ned and I are partners for our biology project on DNA and RNA. Our teacher gave us the bases for one half of the DNA strand, and we have to sequence the other side as if it were DNA and RNA. We then have to show the sequence as a 3D model. We’ll get extra credit if it’s made out of something edible, so we’re thinking about making it out of some type of string-like candy. The DNA strand has to look like a double helix, so we’ll have to create some sort of support, but the RNA strand can be flat.

“That sounds interesting.”

“Yeah, it’s cool. MJ has the same teacher for genetics, and she loved that Mrs. Croft spent an entire class period talking about how Watson and Crick are usually named as discovering that DNA is found in a double-helix, but Rosalind Franklin really deserves recognition. That was earlier in the year though. Now, they are doing a mini-unit on blood types.”

“So, do you do a lot of experiments in biology class?”

“Yeah. We’re required to have one lab hour a week by the state. Plus, I go to a STEM school. It’s kind of a given. But even science classes that are not required to have lab do experiments and stuff. MJ’s class isn’t required to have lab, but she still does projects and experiments. When that class learns about Punnett squares, Mrs. Croft brings in pea plants and has each student pick one. They then track it’s growth and try to determine the genotype based on the phenotype of the plant. After that, they are randomly assigned a partner and using the other’s data, they have to determine what traits the offspring of their two plants will have. It’s a long process, but I’ve heard it’s a lot of fun.”

“That sounds a bit confusing.”

“It involves taking pictures, doing math, and a lot of Punnett Squares. Plus, Mrs. Croft apparently knows the genotype of each plant so the students can be accurate when it comes to the group portion of the project.”

Steve nodded and set his spoons in the mixing bowl. “Wanda, how long do these bake for?”

“10 to 12 minutes. Wait until Peter is done and put both trays in at the same time, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Steve, I’m almost done. Let me place the last one on the sheet.” Peter did just that and handed the completed sheet to Steve, who dutifully stuck it in the oven before setting the timer. 

“So, Wanda, how many cookies is this supposed to make?”

“About eight dozen. I don’t want to bake them all though. I want to freeze some dough in cylinders so they can be cut up and baked whenever, like the tubes they sell at the grocery store.”

“If you’d like, I can start doing that while Peter and you finish putting dough balls onto these baking sheets.”

“That’s fine with me. According to this website,” Wanda glanced at the tablet, “the dough rolls should be 1½ inches wide and 8-10 inches long. And double wrap them in plastic wrap to prevent freezer burn. If you would make two of them, that would be great.”

“Okay, sure.” Wanda took Steve’s place as he looked for the plastic wrap, trading quips on cookie size and shape with Peter. 

Soon, the scent of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies filled the room. As soon as the timer went off, Wanda took the trays out of the oven and floated them to rest on the counter next to the cooling racks. Before directing another two trays into the oven.

Almost as soon as they were on the counter, Peter was asking for one. “Why don’t you set the timer?” Wanda suggested.

Steve was more blunt. “You’ll burn your tongue and the roof of your mouth off if you eat one now. Those chocolate chips are molten.”

“Don’t worry, Peter,” Wanda was quick to reassure him, “I’ll make sure you get first dibs once they’ve cooled.”

10 impatient minutes later, Peter was happily chewing on a cookie. “These are so good! Who knew that I could cook?”

“Technically, this is a baked good,” Steve corrected. “The jury’s still out on whether you can cook something or not.”

“And now you’ll never know, since Mr. Stark hasn’t lifted his ban yet.”

“Honestly, I think you were banned because of what you were doing when Tony arrived to investigate why the smoke detector was going off.” Clint came up behind Peter and grabbed a cookie off the rack. “He said that instead of taking care of the smoking pot on the stove, you were doing some weird type dab-like dance move to the beat of the smoke detector. You weren’t following proper safety procedures for preventing a fire.”

“It was for the Vine,” Peter defended himself.

“Vine’s has been dead for years, buddy.” Sam elbowed himself between Clint and the teen. “Now give me a cookie.” He took a bite. “These are pretty good.”

“Thanks!” Wanda and Peter chorused.

“Clint, grab a plate and put some cookies on there. If I have to carry us through this mission then I at least want to have tasty snacks.” He nabbed another cookie before heading back towards the gaming console, Clint trailing him with a plateful of cookies.

“Shouldn’t we have FRIDAY tell everyone we made a snack?” Peter questioned.

“Everyone else is busy at the moment. Bucky and Natasha are sparring, Tony and Bruce are working on something until dinner, and Vision and I are about to go see a movie.” Wanda stood up and made her way towards the elevator. “Bye Peter, great job with the cookies! Thanks for your help, Steve. Can one of you clean up the kitchen?”

“We’ll both clean it up,” Steve responded. “Enjoy your movie!”

“Thanks!” With a final wave, Wanda was in the elevator.

“So… how do you want to tackle this, Mr. Steve?” The teen gestured to the assortmentment of baking appliances and supplies littered across the counter.

“Let’s put away all of the food items first. Then, we can wash everything. Would you rather wash or dry?”

“I’ll dry.”

“Great. You put away the extra cookies and I’ll put away the other food and then we’ll get to washing.”

They worked quietly, listening to Sam loudly quip how horrible Clint was at the game they were playing. “I said they were on your left. Your left! Yet you shoot towards the right and get us killed!

“You know, maybe we should switch. I’ll shoot things and you can fly the plane. Maybe then we can complete this mission.

“I swear if we have to play this level one more time, I will replace you with Cap... Don’t give me that look. I’m sure he would be a better player than you are at the moment.”

With the cookies all packed away, Peter grabbed a hand towel and made his way over to the sink where Steve was already waiting. “Let’s start with the utensils.” Peter hummed in agreement.  
Steve started to wash the measuring cups. “So, are you excited to go out Spidermanning again?”

“Yep! I love helping people.” Peter started drying off the measuring cups.

“Well, before you leave, I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

“Of course! What is it? A prank war, new fighting technique? Oh, do you want to redesign your shield!” Peter was positively vibrating.

“No, none of those things. I want your help in solving a mystery.”

“Oh.” Peter couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice for long. “What mystery needs to be solved?”

Steve stopped washing the spatula in his hand and pointed it at the teen. “Someone drink my last ginger ale, and I need your help.”

Peter hoped he schooled his face quick enough. “Wouldn’t Ms. Nat or Mr. Stark be a better assistant than me? I mean, Ms. Nat is a well-known assassin and can find any information you need. Mr. Stark’s tech runs the building, so he’s bound to know something.”

“I went to them first, but Tony said that it was below his pay grade and Nat was especially evasive when I asked for her help. Clint and Sam are no help and no one else has a vested interest. You like solving things though, and you’re incredibly smart, which is why I think you’re perfect for the job.”

“Okay… I guess I’ll help.”

“Thanks.”

“What makes the missing can of ginger ale so special?” Peter asked casually as he dried off the spatula.

“Well, it was part of a bet that Bucky and I were doing. We got into an argument over whose soft drink habit was worse, his or mine. We then bet who could last longer without either rootbeer for him and ginger ale for me. After that, we decided that the only thing we could drink during the competition was water. So, no coffee for Bucky, and no protein smoothies for me. 

“Bucky insisted on that because he likes to make things as much of a challenge as possible.”

“Were you allowed to eat soup?”

“Yes, but only if it had something in it, otherwise, it would be broth, which is equivalent to tea in this case. So, I couldn’t have tomato soup, but I chicken noodle was okay.” Peter nodded as Steve rinsed the cutting board. 

“But back to the rules. Sam came in during our bickering and thought it would be a good idea to place one of each soft drink in the fridge to serve as added temptation. Bucky whole-heartedly agreed. So, a can of rootbeer and a can of ginger ale were placed in the fridge. Both of us labeled our respective cans warning the others not to touch them.

“However, at the end of the fourth day, I noticed that my can of ginger ale was missing. Bucky noticed too, and declared himself the winner. But here’s the thing. I didn’t drink it, and I don’t know where it went. I told Bucky that someone else drank it, but he didn’t believe me, calling me a sore loser.

“So… what happened since you lost the bet?”

“I have to do Bucky’s laundry for a month.”

“That’s not fun.” He tried to keep his tone light.

“Yeah, it’s not.”

“What did you do next?” 

“I then went to Tony, asking if I could see FRIDAY’s video footage to prove that it wasn’t me. But he said that there was no footage from that day, which is very suspicious. Plus, he wouldn’t elaborate as to why the footage disappeared.”

“I then went to Nat and everyone else in the tower that had access to see if they knew anything about it. But no one has any ideas.”

Peter was starting to catch onto what Steve was impling, and did not like it, despite the fact that it was true. “So, do you really want my help, or do you see me as a suspect?”

“I don’t know. It depends on what you tell me, Peter.” His face gave nothing away.

“What day did this occur again?”

“Tuesday of last week.”

“I was here, but I don’t really remember much. I had a horrible headache and just wanted to sleep.”

“Walk me through what you did once you arrived on this floor.” Steve didn’t even look at him, instead focusing on scrubbing a spot on the mixing bowl. 

“Well, I arrived here, set my backpack down, and made a beeline for the couch. My head and stomach hurt and I was tired, so I took a nap. Instead, I woke up, falling to the floor and a concerned Ms. Nat. She called in Mr. Stark and Dr. Bruce. Dr. Bruce ended up running some tests and determined that I got a concussion--”

“Wait, you got a concussion at school?”

“I--Yes. I thought everyone knew that?”

“All Tony said was that you were injured at school and under no circumstances were you allowed to go out as Spiderman until Dr. Cho cleared you. I figured you tripped down some stairs and injured your leg or something.” Steve paused rinsing out the stand mixer’s bowl and looked at the teen. “How did you manage to get a concussion at school?”

“It was an accident. One of my classmates bumped into me and I fell back. My head hit a lock, giving me a concussion.”

“This ‘classmate’ of yours doesn’t happen to be named Flash by chance?”

“Maybe.”

“So it was definitely Flash.”

Peter sighed. “Yeah, but enough about that. Any other questions?”

“No. But I do have something else I’d like to say.”

“Okay.”

“I know that you took my ginger ale.”

He knew the gig was up. “What! How’d you figure out it was me? I had Friday erase the cameras.”

“Yes, but not well enough. You only erased the ones in the kitchen, and only for that evening. It would have been less conspicuous to erase all of the camera footage from the entire floor, claiming there was a floor-wide outage. I could see the can on the coffee when you took it to the common area. Another option would have been to erase all of the footage between when I had last entered the kitchen to the next time I entered. Make it seem like intentional sabotage.

“Plus, there was a process of elimination. You’re the last person I’m talking to that FRIDAY records being on this level during the camera blackout. Everyone else has an alibi or is with someone else, save you.”

With that, Peter breaks. “I’m not in trouble, am I? I took the ginger ale because I know that ginger can soothe upset stomachs and I wasn’t feeling very good. I thought it would help me out. That's why I took it.

“I’m only 16. Early morning calisthenics is cruel and unusual punishment for someone my age. I don’t get enough sleep as it is. Just ask May. She’ll tell you how important sleep is to developing minds like mine.”

“I-m--”

Peter continues, ignoring Steve’s input. “Plus, you’re still on thin ice with May. Do you really want to explain to my aunt why you want me to join you to work out at like 5am in the morning? You’ve heard Mr. Stark, she can be very intimidating. You would definitely regret it.”

“Hey, Peter. Calm down. It’s fine. I’m not going to force you to exercise early in the morning with me.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope,” Steve confirmed. “That warning was mostly for Sam and Clint. They’ve been known to mess up the bets between Bucky and I before. It wouldn;t be fair to punish you. You weren’t feeling well and you thought it could help you. Only a jerk would hold that against you.”

“Thanks, Mr. Steve. I still feel like I should make it up to you somehow since you have to do My. Bucky’s laundry for a month.”

“When he comes up here for cookies, you can tell him the truth.”

“Okay.” A smile broke across Peter’s face. “Let’s finish this up! I heard Sam mention that you might be better than Clint at the video game they are playing, and I’d love to find out.”

Steve matched his smile and enthusiasm. “I would too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the story! Now, how I got a concussion:
> 
> We were having softball practice in the gym, and we were practicing pop flies. I called for one, but this senior was trying to prove herself due to something that occurred the previous season. (IDK what, as I was a freshman). So we both go for the ball, and she runs into me at full speed. I end up on the floor with the worst headache of my life. I spent the rest of practice sitting on the stage.
> 
> After softball practice was over, I went to my two hour Chamber Strings practice. It was not fun at all. Once I came home, my mother thought I was acting weird. After getting the story out of me, she called the non-emergency number, and a paramedic came and determined I had a mild concussion.


End file.
